


Posters and Prints

by HaveAGoodeDay



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 11:45:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16786330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaveAGoodeDay/pseuds/HaveAGoodeDay
Summary: “I’m so sorry.” Cordelia blurts out, she clasps her hands in front of herself, blushes so hard the red tones spread down her neck and below the collar of her blouse. “I shouldn’t of walked in, without being permitted.”..Cordelia finds Misty in a particularly embarrassing state.





	Posters and Prints

Cordelia’s hand rasps against the door quietly, she takes a deep breath of the humid Louisiana summer that even the coven’s air conditioning can’t keep up with. It has a majority of her girls retreating to the public pool, leaving with towels and tanning lotion early and planning on staying until the burning sun falls and the temperatures become less hellish. 

(She had made sure to pack sunblock for them too, so her students didn’t burn up.)

But one young woman remains in their home, her records blaring loud enough to be heard through the floorboards. Stevie Nicks sings the chorus of  _ Enchanted _ as the Supreme stands outside the younger witch’s room. Nerves crawl up her spine; she tells herself to  _ calm down.  _ Misty is one of her  _ girls _ , she can’t keep feeling like a lovesick teenager around the Cajun. No matter how pretty she looks twirling around in her shawls.

That’s what Cordelia expects, popping open the door and stepping in before even looking over the scene greeting her - to find the swamp witch dancing. There’s a certain  _ charm  _ to Misty’s room - Fleetwood Mac posters, jewelry scattered across every surface, clothes thrown in a whirlwind around the space. The bed, pushed in a corner where the photos taped up are heavily clustered, is where her eyes stop and they  _ stare.  _

Misty Day, in all her slightly wild glory, with her legs spread and her hand buried in the blonde curls in between her thighs. Cordelia's chest feels heavy, her eyes go wide and she chokes on the gasp that tries to escape her. Then Misty picks her head from her pillow, and squints at her superior’s presence.

Cordelia can’t look up at the ceiling fast enough, her eyes landing on the prints of Stevie Nicks adhered there after the swamp witch had run out of wall space.

“Miss ‘Delia?” Misty’s voice is rougher than usual, but it’s usual kindness coats each word nonetheless. 

“I’m so sorry.” Cordelia blurts out, she clasps her hands in front of herself, blushes so hard the red tones spread down her neck and below the collar of her blouse. “I shouldn’t of walked in, without being permitted.”

“Oh. You ain’t got to apologize for that, Miss Cordelia.” The title makes the older blonde’s jaw tense. “I just wasn’t expectin’ a visitor.”

“I could tell.” Cordelia notes, she looks over the lines of the  _ Rumors  _ poster above her, “I’m just- I’m going to leave.”

Misty calls out before she can spin in her heel though,

“Stay, I was feelin’ lonely anyway.” The younger witch admits, and though Cordelia can’t see her, she hears the mattress squeak as she moves. 

“Are you decent?” 

“Are you askin’ if you can look?” Misty teases, “Cause you never had to stop looking. I don’t got nothing you don’t, unless…”

“ _ I was wondering, _ ” Cordelia squeaks, she finally tears her glaring from the ceiling and finds Misty sitting up in bed. The room is smaller than most of the others in the house; the lack of space giving Misty the privilege of having it to herself. From the short distance, she spies the magazines open on the bed - older looking prints of a younger Stevie and Cordelia thinks her face reddens more. “I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in having lunch together, I m-made too much for myself and...”

Listening to her talk still, Cordelia pales when Misty casually wipes her fingers on the quilt covering her mattress. It makes her trail off, mouth agape. 

“I’d like that.” Misty affirms, she bobs her head, but her eyes light up and she grins goofily at the older blonde’s embarrassment. “Miss Cordelia,why you turnin’ red like a cherry?”

“You were just- You were, Misty-” Cordelia grimaces, she can’t spit it out. Her tongue feels like it doesn’t work; and she has to whisper it like they aren’t alone when it finally does come out, “You were just  _ pleasuring  _ yourself.”

“That’s an awful fancy way of saying you walked in on me touchin’ myself.” The younger woman teases, she reaches out her hand - thankfully, her other one - in an effort to bring Cordelia over. “Besides, it’s not like you’re my mama.”

“I’m your  _ Supreme _ .” 

“You’re my friend, Miss ‘Delia.” 

The statement warms the older woman’s heart, she finds herself walking forward and smiling in spite of her burning shame. Closer, Cordelia lets herself look at Misty’s flush, the way her  _ Fleetwood Mac  _ tour shirt hangs off one shoulder, and there’s not a bra strap to be seen. The part of her mind she tries to muffle most of the time asks,  _ was she close? _

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” Cordelia, sitting on the edge of the mattress as far away from Misty as she can, mumbles. Her eyes shift from her companion’s face, she doubts it’ll be easy to meet the girl’s eyes for at least a week. But, to her own horror, she notices the papers on the bed shift, and the purple silicone nearly touching her own hip. 

Oh  _ God,  _ could this get any worse?

The older witch’s widened eyes draw Misty’s attention to what they settled on, and she scoots over to grab it casually. 

“Sorry,” The presence of the bullet-shaped object seems to be the one thing the swamp witch blushes at, “I didn’t use it yet.”

_ Yet. _

“You should.” It blurts out of Cordelia before she can clamp her mouth shut. The hotness of the room feels thicker, then, and she grips the cotton of her skirt in her hand. “I meant, I can leave you alone. I didn’t mean-”

“You wanted to watch?”

“No!”

“But you do.” Misty reads her, grins at her twitchy movements and cracking voice. The toy is still in her hand, and the long black wire from it trails under the magazines beneath them. She reclines back - Her head lands on the pillows, it props her up enough to watch Cordelia fumble for a moment.

“This is highly inappropriate.” 

“I want you to,” Misty admits, and she pushes at the waistband to her shorts until they are around her knees. Cordelia doesn’t look, she does  _ not  _ stare at the place the Cajun uncovers. “Miss Cordelia, I’ve been wantin’ you for awhile now.”

The supreme thinks off their greenhouse; the shared and cherished memories. Dancing to  _ Tango in the Night,  _ weeding the plants and a ringed hand brushing against her own too much to be considered accidental. The big, clay pot they’d painted, pressed both their handprints on in yellow and blue colors shortly before Misty smeared the cold, wet liquid across her cheeks. 

Perhaps, her affections are not one sided.

With shaky hands, she reaches for the wire, drags on it until the remote comes into view. It feels chilly in Cordelia’s palm, even though the room boils around her. The older witch’s breath sticks to her lungs, and she can’t help feeling light headed at Misty placing her end of the device in between her thighs. The younger blonde raises an eyebrow, a question.

Cordelia answers it with the press of a button, she watches Misty jump under the vibrations, listens to the sound of it fill her ears. Sitting at the end of the bed, she can see her partner’s chest rising and falling, her eyes squinting shut. The buzzing is  _ loud,  _ ruthless. It makes her guilty for starting with the highest setting. But Misty’d been already worked up, her back arches and she grinds her teeth. A groan that sounds like Cordelia’s name drawls out, and she comes like an arrow leaving the bow - hips jumping in pleasant spasms. 

Her hand pushes away the vibrator, lets it rumble against the prints of Stevie, and reaches for Cordelia with a happy little smile that crinkles her eyes. 

“C’mon, your turn.”


End file.
